


things catch

by preromantics



Category: The Runaways (2010) RPF
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-30
Updated: 2010-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-14 06:06:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/146186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preromantics/pseuds/preromantics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>It's a hotel room couch, the material rough under Dakota's fingers and her thighs where her light dress is rucked up from sprawling out, tired after a day's worth of press.<i></i></i></p>
            </blockquote>





	things catch

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 7/10/2010 for a prompt during the Real Women Fest.

"That's just -- it's shit," Kristen says, sliding down the couch so her legs are over the top and her hair nearly touches the floor. It's a hotel room couch, the material rough under Dakota's fingers and her thighs where her light dress is rucked up from sprawling out, tired after a day's worth of press.

There is a People magazine on the suite's coffee table, complimentary, and the corner sports a picture of Kristen and Rob, talking close in some city, with an obvious headline.

Dakota hums, low, and slides down sideways on the couch, throwing her own legs over Kristen's, her skin colder than Dakota's own and almost shocking, for a moment.

"Is it so wrong to hate seeing the same pictures, the same fucking stories every time I walk in a drug store?" Kristen asks.

"No," Dakota says, but amends herself. "Maybe."

"Maybe," Kristen repeats, the word falling out heavy, like it's hard to get out upside-down.

It's Kristen's suite, and they'd gotten up at nine, done for the night. They took out all the little chocolate liquor bottles in the mini-fridge (five in total), and, even though Dakota had drank before, probably too much for only being sixteen, when Kristen pressed the first into her palm, chilled, it had felt like a little thrill down her spine.

There is one little bottle left on the table, now, that Dakota can see sideways, the foil over the screw top bent just a little. She leans up while Kristen hums something tired, low in her throat, something from the shoot, from being together the past few months.

She grabs the bottles and part of her manicure chips when she peels the foil off, but it looks good, rougher, less perfect. Dakota hates being perfect. "I --" Dakota starts, as she crumples the foil between her fingers and shifts to sit next to where Kristen is hanging upside-down, "I used to love seeing my pictures in magazines."

"You're young," Kristen says, "that's what it's supposed to feel like."

"Who knows what anythings supposed to feel like?" Dakota asks, deciding not to be bothered -- they've bantered about age, about growing up, about life enough in the past few months. Dakota is only young in numbers.

Kristen looks up, laughing out in presses of air, eyes bright. "You're too much sometimes, you know that?"

Dakota rolls her eyes, reaches down and holds Kristen's jaw open with her fingers, pressing in. She tilts the bottle in her hand down to get the angle right and then pours a good third of it into Kristen's open mouth while Kristen watches, one eyebrow raised.

Dakota presses Kristen's jaw shut with her fingers. "Swallow," she says, watching as she does, feeling the way it moves her fingers.

Kristen doesn't say anything, and her expression doesn't change, but she opens her mouth again when Dakota moves her fingers down, and Dakota pours another sip into her mouth. There isn't much left after Kristen swallows, and she keeps her mouth shut for a moment.

"Have the rest," she says, voice low. For a moment Dakota wishes they'd thought to put on the tv, or the radio, and it feels weird, like the time they'd practiced their kiss on Dakota's bed before filming, Kristen with her awkward laugh and fingers too-cold curled around Dakota's neck. (Dakota's lips felt different for days, like if she closed her eyes they didn't really belong to her, they were part of Kristen now -- which was silly, because Dakota had kissed boys before, kissed a girl once at a school party, another cheerleader, and. It hadn't been like that.)

"No," Dakota says, because Kristen is pulling herself up. Dakota presses open her jaw while Kristen is still moving, just a little, and pours the rest of the bottle in. The angle is different, though, wrong, and the liquid dribbles down the side of Kristen's mouth, down to her chin. 

"Dakota," Kristen says, sitting up now, her knees pressed into the back of the couch. "You should've saved it."

Dakota laughs, because she thinks, watches Kristen move her hand to wipe away at the liquid on the side of her mouth, her chin, and closes her own eyes once before she grabs Kristen's hand.

"I did save some," Dakota says, grinning quick, probably a little foolish and young. She darts forward before Kristen's expression changes and licks at the bit on Kristen's chin, moving up, catching the corner of Kristen's lips.

Kristen sucks in a tiny breath, the sort she makes when she sees too many cameras, or she sees that a bakery has her favorite type of muffin, or that craft services has put out a new pot of coffee. (Dakota likes the noise, a lot, especially now.)

Dakota pulls back for a moment, licks her lips and swallows the taste on her tongue -- the bitterness of the alcohol, sort of too-sweet, too, and the salt of Kristen's skin.

"Yeah?" Kristen says, sort of a question, mostly a breath.

"Yes," Dakota says, right as Kristen reaches up to curl her fingers low against Dakota's neck, leaning forward. "Yes a lot," she adds, and smiles.

Kristen doesn't say anything, but she closes her eyes when she leans in, pressing her lips against Dakota's, this time more fully, slick and hard, tongue slipping in-between in a way that makes Dakota press forward, groan a little high in the back of her throat.

They move at the wrong angle, and Dakota can feel it as they are about to slip down, but Kristen pulls away -- too soon, Dakota wants, more than she should, definitely more than she should be allowed to -- and she stands on a jump, extending a hand out.

"The couch is gross," Kristen says.

"Scratchy," Dakota agrees, short, letting Kristen pull her up with her fingers around Dakota's wrist.

"We should go do this out on the sidewalk," Dakota laughs, giddy, even as Kristen is pulling her across the room, not too fast, but not slow, either. They have tonight, but right now they don't have forever. Not yet.

Kristen looks back at her for a second, eyes squinted, mouth open around a question, but then she laughs, too. "That would give me something better to look at on magazines," she says, "but I'd only do it if we could both flip all the cameras off, too."

"That's implied," Dakota says, and she jumps on the bed before Kristen can pull her down -- young, silly, amazing.

"Maybe tomorrow, though," Kristen says, thoughtful, climbing over top of her. "Are we?"

Dakota presses up towards her. "We are," she says, answering whatever question Kristen had, because they are, together, no matter what Kristen meant. Dakota arches her neck up into Kristen's drag of lips, and she thinks about how they won't go out tomorrow morning and make headlines, but maybe -- maybe someday, they will.


End file.
